


Lethe

by SuperstringSymphony



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A strange amount of beekeeping, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cottage Au, Everyone Needs A Hug, Except he can't even remember he hates magic, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Loki and his magical fuckery, M/M, Magical Memory Bullshit, Memory Loss, Steve is not actually a farmhand, Team as Family, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Hates Magic, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, stray cats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-01 16:59:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13299225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperstringSymphony/pseuds/SuperstringSymphony
Summary: “Why do you reach?”  Tony's head whips around.  Serpent.  He thinks, staring up into eyes too green to be human.  “You never wanted them, you Midgardians are so fickle.”  The tone is almost fondly amused, but venom can be sweet. Tony knows this in some deep fundamental part of his soul.“They're mine, give them back.”  He hisses, uncaring of the alarm bells this person's presence is setting off.“Ah but I have given you your fondest wish.”  His smile is sharp, too sharp, glittering, and white, and knowing.  Armored scales hiss over the sand as the man crouches down so they are at eye-level with each other.  “You have always wanted to be someone else, haven't you?  Now is your chance, you are welcome.”Or alternately that Amnesiac Au where Tony Stark does not remember he's Tony Stark and The Avengers are protective of their memory-less friend.  Bee keeping, cottages, and angsty fluff oh my.





	1. Lethe

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for the ever kind and talented [Kayvsworld](http://kayvsworld.tumblr.com/) based upon this ask I sent them: ok but imagine an au where tony disappears to live in one of his secret cottages. He's like keeping bees and inventing stuff in his garage, fixing stuff for the nearby village. Maybe he's an amnesiac or smth idk, but imagine, soft peaceful boy happy in his flower gardened cottage
> 
> -be forewarned, this first chapter is very angsty, rated mature just in case.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated and possibly framed with gold star stickers, and if you ever want to drop into my inbox, my [Tumblr](https://ilunabarrean.tumblr.com/) is this way.

_________________________________________________________________

  
  
Tony wakes.

A cold breeze drags icy fingers over his face, and something tells him that's not right, his face shouldn't be exposed like this. Bright spotty afterimages flash behind his lids when he blinks, and the smell of smoke and burning metal is so overpowering he nearly blacks out again. Where was he before? Someone is leaning over him-speaking to him, blue eyes, blond hair, a face that Bernini might have sculpted brought to life. Explosions rock the ground, no, the street he's laying in the middle of. Something about the billowing clouds of smoke makes him cringe with half remembered terrors, the ringing in his ears makes his breath ache in his chest, and his fingers itch for a gun that's not there.

Someone is singing a distance away, the accent escapes him, but he remembers this song. Pancakes, the blue eyed man makes them and sings when he thinks he's alone; old soldier's songs painful with memory and longing. He knows he pretends not to hear, because they are friends, and these wounds are still healing.

_Tony! Tony wake up!_

His hair feels wet, and he realizes his eyes are closed again. The sky above him is too blue when he blinks awake slugggishly; a vast endless stretch of ocean laps at his fingers.

“Do you see them?” The sound of a voice in this strange place startles him.

“They are your memories, do you see them?” That voice is smooth as glass, but Tony feels it like an ice-pick between his eyes, and he crawls up onto his knees, falling down to an elbow near the water's edge when his body refuses to cooperate. Faces shimmer in that deep blue, it terrifies him for some reason, that calm stretch of water; wood planks of a barrel at the bottom, not sand-but he reaches for it anyway _Mine, these are mine._ He thinks fiercely, grabbing for those flickering images, but the water draws back, and he is just a man. The tide can't be held in his arms.

“Why do you reach?” Tony's head whips around. _Serpent._ He thinks, staring up into eyes too green to be human. “You never wanted them, you Midgardians are so fickle.” The tone is almost fondly amused, but venom can be sweet. Tony knows this in some deep fundamental part of his soul.

“They're mine, give them back.” He hisses, uncaring of the alarm bells this person's presence is setting off.

“Ah but I have given you your fondest wish.” His smile is sharp, too sharp, glittering, and white, and knowing. Armored scales hiss over the sand as the man crouches down so they are at eye-level with each other. “You have always wanted to be someone else, haven't you? Now is your chance, you are welcome.” Tony wants to say that no, that's not true, but he can't remember, can't see. His chest hurts, it hurts to breathe, it hurts to _think._

“Do not seek what you do not wish to find.” Is the last thing he hears before sinking back into unconsciousness. This time he welcomes it.

 

_________________________________________________________________

 

When he wakes the next time his ears are still ringing. Bright fluorescent lights go by above him like the white lines on a road. Someone is clasping his hand, holding it as the gurney he's on rolls through hallways. The grip on his fingers is strong and sure despite the size, and Tony looks up to see the hand belongs to a woman with a bright mass of wavy scarlet hair. Strange, he doesn't think black leather catsuits are standard hospital attire. At his other side the blond with the face of a sculpture and the body to match is keeping up with the running medical staff effortlessly. Behind them a woman in a perfectly polished business suit is keeping pace despite her towering heels. Tony doesn't know her, but he feels an intense feeling of comfort seeing her there.

“Private room, we need a private room.” She says crisply. Her eyes look a little wet, but her posture is ready, confident. This trio of familiar yet unfamiliar faces is almost enough to distract him from the powerful feeling of general _wrongness_ emanating from his chest.

“What the fuck, what's in my chest?” His voice sounds like he might have been chewing on gravel earlier, but that doesn't matter.

“Tony, now's not the time for jokes, they can't find anything wrong physically but every time we try and debrief you, you pass out. JARVIS had to pry you out of the armor.” Blue eyes says as if that's supposed to mean something to him, but Tony barely registers this completely incomprehensible statement, staring at the man incredulously.

“Why are you dressed like Captain America?” Tony asks, curiosity breaking through the panic and confusion for a moment. “I mean that's an amazing costume, who made it, were we at a Halloween party?”

“You've asked me that four times already.” Cap says, but he doesn't sound annoyed at all at having apparently been repeating himself; just deeply concerned. Tony wonders if he's concussed. This feels deeper than that though. He feels like a passenger in his own body, in his own brain. Just knowing his own name seems a monumental task.

“What's in my chest?” He asks again, this time with more alarm, yanking at the strange almost wetsuit-like material encasing his chest-and the round glowing light that looks like it's right in the center of his pectorals. His fingers skate over smooth glass when he touches over the light with his free hand. He knocks on it twice, gasping as the vibrations travel deep down into his thoracic cavity. That can't be good.

“We need an MRI.” The scrubbed woman at the front of the gurney calls, and all three of his companions are suddenly up in arms.

“No MRI, absolutely no magnetic imaging.” They're talking more, but their voices fuzz out as he finds a way to roll his strange clothing down to get a good look at the device situated over his sternum. No, not over- _in_ his sternum, _in his chest._ That explains the discomfort. He thinks with dawning horror, taking a deep breath to try and steady his nerves. Or he would, but the breath catches in his lungs shallowly, sending him into an abrupt coughing fit that leaves him wheezing, curled on his side. So that's a no on deep cathartic breaths then.

“Tony, it's okay, just focus on breathing, it's okay.” The tall red head in the sky high heels is there suddenly-Cinnamon? Her name is something spicy, he knows it, if he could just _think._ Cap look-alike and the woman in the catsuit join her almost immediately. They're rubbing at his arms, his shoulders, and it would feel pretty nice if he wasn't possibly having a heart attack right this moment.

“Get us that room **now** _._ ” One of the trio says, but he can't tell who over the pounding of his pulse in his ears. Probably Cayenne, something about her screams competence, but what is her _name_?

“What's in my chest?” He whispers again, eyes wild even as he tries to relax into the gentle touches attempting to sooth his obvious distress. He doesn't know these people, but he _knows_ them. Some deep buried part of himself seems to recognize they mean him no harm.

“Going to be okay Shellhead, you're alright, just a fancy pacemaker, you're okay, stay with me.” Tall blond and handsome says, stepping back but not away to allow the medical personnel to wheel him into the private room and start shining lights into his eyes and poking at his veins. Tony ignores that in favor of staring at his companions. All three of them look more than a little agitated, Tony feels the inexplicable urge to comfort them.

“Shellhead?”

“Yeah you're my partner. You call me Winghead, remember.” Captain America impersonator is looking increasingly concerned.

“What, we're married? Well that's unexpected but not entirely out of the realm of possibilities since I do think you're way too attractive, actually all three of you are scary hot, and wow I said that out loud.” Cap looks like he doesn't know how to react to that statement, but his cheeks turn a pretty endearing shade of pink beneath his blue cowl.

“The Avengers, you're one of us.” Catsuit interjects, watching the doctor who's just entered the room closely.

“Avengers, what?” He's so confused even the strange pacemaker seems low on the surreal factor. Avengers sounds familiar though, like something just on the tip of his tongue. He reaches for that thread, that faint glimmer of familiarity. So close, the shore is so close, if he can just dip his fingers in the water.

There's a moment where he thinks he almost has it, but then black is rushing up to cover his vision, his ears ring, distantly he feels himself shaking, as if he's seeing this all play out from a long ways away. His muscles scream with tension, and somewhere someone is screaming, funny it sounds a lot like his own voice.

“Seizing, he's seizing, get a neurologist in here!”

“Tony, Tony, hang on-” The rest of what the tall red haired woman says is lost on him as he loses himself to the dark once more.

 


	2. Terere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is in this because why not. He was found earlier than in MCU canon, and got to work through his conditioning and such in a proper way-obviously he's still recovering, but there will be no crash course de-winter soldiering here. In this sort of AU he's an Avenger as well. Anyway, happy reading, I live for comments as always, and hope you enjoy!

* * *

 

For the first few days out of the hospital Tony sleeps. He sleeps like he can't remember ever sleeping. Of course he really can't remember much-but his body tells him what his mind can't. He's exhausted, it's a constant thing lurking about the corners of his consciousness. He has a pretty strong suspicion that sleep deprivation is something he has been dealing with for months, maybe even years.

The reactor in his chest is a constant pressure, but within two days he learns which positions are comfortable, and which are instantly painful. Something tells him he has learned to sleep with it before in much less optimum conditions, but no one will tell him how it came to be. No one will tell him much of anything in a point of fact-they seem afraid to trigger his curiosity. Tony doesn't blame them, his curiosity is insatiable, almost a will of its own.

Even missing almost his entire life, he builds things while he lays in bed; designs engines and schematics that glow with blue light while pacing around his room. The people who come in to see him seem to sense his boredom, so it's obvious that this all consuming restlessness is nothing new. They're apologetic, but they tell him it's for the best if he stays inside until more is known about his condition. Tony trusts them, he tells them so when they filter in one or two at a time. The admission seems to shock all of them-save for Pepper. Tall and red haired, she and the big tall blond named Steve are in the room with him most often. JARVIS the AI is with him constantly though, but even the AI he _knows_ he built will tell him nothing. It's frustrating, this not knowing, but Tony understands, he does. That doesn't change the face that he's bored out of his skull and has started contemplating building an anti-gravity device so he can climb the walls in a literal sense.

Two days ago several of his old new friends' disappeared off to do who knows what. The one named Bucky is still here, but he's like a ghost. Tony doesn't see him often, but when he does drop by it's usually with food or a hot drink. He seems to be treating Tony as if he has a cold, or maybe a nasty sinus infection. It's kind of amusing to watch a guy that walks like that tiptoe across his bedroom with a tray full of chicken soup and strong black tea or coffee.

Natasha and Pepper are still around too, although he gets the idea both of them are extremely busy. They still make time to sit with him however. He paints their nails while they press him between them; their expensive looking business suits getting all wrinkled while they make idle small talk Tony _knows_ hedges around important things he might have needed to know at one point. It doesn't seem to matter all that much though when they kick off their high heels and clamber into bed with him in just before the sun is coming up.

“Why didn't you tell us you liked being touched so much?” Natasha muses, curling a dark lock of his hair around one teal painted fingernail. She seems to realize what she's said. Her body stiffens, eyes dropping to scan his face as if she's worried something terrible is about to happen.

“If I didn't I'm sure there's a reason, but don't worry, not looking into that.” He murmurs, curling up against Pepper where she's spooned up behind him. Natasha's knees slot between his, her expression relaxing as she scrapes her fingernails over his scalp gently. The last thing he hears before falling asleep is Natasha's quietly whispered _Don't worry, we'll fix this._ It's comforting, even if he doesn't feel particularly broken.

He wakes briefly when they both leave-whispering about important meetings, and something about an AI named Anthony. Tony rolls over and tries not to miss their warmth in the bed.

They're gone for far too long, the tower is quiet, and just a little bit cold. Tony knows he could ask JARVIS to raise the temperature, but there's a steaming mug of hot cocoa on his nightstand-compliments of his ghostly metal armed housemate-and a big fluffy blanket calling his name. He feels a strange sense of nostalgia for something he can't remember when he wraps the thick down quilt around his shoulders and peers out into the hallway. Maybe it's because he's peripherally aware that he's not supposed to be leaving his room-something that feels a little like the illicit thrill of getting one over on parents he doesn't remember. He's so _bored_ though, and there doesn't seem to be anyone around.

His feet trace a path to a huge sitting room with floor to ceiling panoramic windows; muscle memory leads him unerringly. Beyond tall glass doors there is a deck, and New York City glitters with thousands of lights below.

Outside it's snowing, Tony can see it through the giant windows. He wraps the fluffy blanket around his shoulders more tightly, clutching his mug of hot chocolate and taking a long sip to feel the pleasant heat warm him from the inside out. Behind him a razor thin television plays a movie that came out five years ago. Tony doesn't remember it, but he does remember the exact year and day it came out. The functionality of his mind is unquestionable. He _knows_ his mind is sharp.

He knows vast sums of things in fact.

The exact components of rocket fuel. How to assemble a truly stunning variety of bombs. How to take a gun apart and put it back together and how to give Chopin a run for his money on the piano. The atomic weight of each element on the Periodic Table. How to speak at least ten languages, though he can't remember learning them. He knows that down in some part of this tower there are robots he built, but not why he built them.

All that knowledge, and he has no idea how he got here. It's safe here though, Tony trusts in that without a doubt. A strong feeling of _home, safe, family_ permeates this space.

The others puzzle him. checking on him constantly, as if they're afraid he will slip through their fingers like smoke, like the water he can see in the distance when he closes his eyes and really concentrates. Part of him desperately wants to reach for it. Another part of him is happy not knowing. Something tells him he has reached for it before.

It was a decidedly bad idea. Swimming through the dark-that he recalls. His head on someone's knees while they yelled for him; blue eyes wide and terrified. _Tony, Tony, stop trying to remember, let us handle this, Tony please._ His vision spots, and he shakes his head to clear his thoughts, taking another long sip of hot cocoa. Bucky made it for him; something like understanding glittering in his eyes when he dropped it off on the nightstand in Tony's bedroom. Tony wants to take his arm apart for some reason, but that's probably _really_ rude to even think of so he pushes that away.

“Where is he? Let me see him-” Tony perks up. That's a new voice, but it feels like the others do. They're just outside the doorway, but Tony knows none of the people in the tower are aware he's up and walking around.

“Colonel Rhodes, if I might suggest you speak with Anthony first, he can apprise you of the situation.”

“That's not him, looks like him, but that's not him, that's an AI-no offense JARVIS, but I'd like to see the real deal. Where's Tony.” Tony knows he ought to be a little disturbed by the fact that there's a holographic AI that looks exactly like him wandering around somewhere in the tower, but he just feels relieved. If he's as important as everyone seems to think he is, then all of his memories being gone could present a huge problem.

“Colonel Rhodes-” JARVIS sounds a little exasperated, but entirely resigned. Tony can't wait to meet this guy already.

“Sorry JARVIS, usually I'd go along with this, but I didn't pull my brother out of the desert not to go to him first when he has some crazy memory whammy going on.” _Brother._ That sense of rightness is back. The word settling somewhere just behind his heart with warm familiarity.

“I'm in here.” He calls, practically vibrating with the anticipation of meeting this person. The tap tap tap of dress shoes sounds down the hallway, announcing the arrival of a man slightly shorter than Tony himself. He's a little broader though, dark skinned with warm brown eyes and close cropped hair. Tony sucks in a breath, the mug rattling in his hand.

“Sugar bear, it's you! I mean-” Tony pauses, holding a quelling hand up. He feels terrible about dousing the hope in his friend's eyes, but it won't do to lie to him; no matter how familiar he is. “I don't uh..actually remember you. Just you look like a sugar bear, or maybe a sour patch.”

“You forget your entire life, but you still remember that, man I have the worst luck.” He says, shaking his head, but there's a wide smile breaking out across his face. “Call me Rhodey.”

“Rhodey, okay, can do. So, what's shakin' bacon, need me to do something for you? Because I hate to break it to you but that ship has unfortunately sailed.”

“Yeah I heard. Tony, Tones.” Rhodey says, the amusement dropping off of his face in favor of a sort of deep seated worry Tony can't even begin to understand. Dark eyes rove his face, seemingly searching for _something_. Tony doesn't know what, but Rhodey just sags, stepping close to pull him into a hug so tight it makes his back pop.

“Tones, what have you gotten yourself into now.” Rhodey murmurs almost to himself. Tony huffs, dropping the comforter from around his shoulders to return the hug one armed. His cocoa runs the risk of spilling, but hugging his friend-his _brother_ -seems more important.

“Not really sure, to be perfectly honest with you. I can't remember anything. Just feelings. Who to trust, how to move around the tower. Other than that, your guess is as good as mine.” Tony admits; some of the fear he's been hiding away leaking into those words. Rhodey just hugs him more tightly, swearing quietly under his breath.

“It's gonna be okay Tones, we've got you.” Rhodey is still speaking, but behind him, the television has shifted to a breaking news story. He hears it as if from far away, and in the glass of the big bay windows he sees his own face reflected back. A news ticker rolls beneath it, stock prices and something called S.I. Is blowing up the market with fantastic new technology. _Who am I?_ He thinks, blinking slowly as his television self takes pictures with math and sciences scholarship recipients. Some of the kids look barely out of elementary school, holding up drawings and renderings of a sleek suit of gold and red armor.

He remembers.

Cards in his hands, fan mail, childish drawings made with crayons, markers, and sometimes glitter pens. He keeps them all, answers them on official Stark Industries stationary. These children that grew up not knowing him for who he used to be _what_ he used to be-these kids that only knew him as-

“Iron Man. I-” He's shaking. Tremors work up his arms, there's a ringing in his ears, and the recessed lighting glows with bright halos like the phosphorous strike of a match. _Aura._ His mind supplies. Rhodey catches him as he goes down, ignoring the mess of hot chocolate staining his clothing as Tony's knees hit the floor. His vision goes slurry, like mixing watercolors on a canvas. There are shapes, more people coming into the room. Are they back?

“Missed you all. Dropped the cup, sorry Bucko” He gasps out. The mug rolls away, and Tony has a brief moment of relief when it doesn't shatter, but then he's just in agony _._

People are shouting his name, but it doesn't seem to matter when the dark rears up and drags him under. He has a feeling of deja vu, then that too is swept away, and he's floating, and he's gone, gone, _gone._

 

________________________________________________________________

 

Tony wakes up in a soft bed. A slender hand is wrapped around one of his, and someone else is combing their fingers through his hair. His chest hurts, and he has an itch somewhere deep in his sternum. Moving seems like more trouble than it's worth though, so he keeps his eyes closed, listening to the murmur of conversation going on around him. The fingers in his hair feel so nice, Tony hopes whoever is doing that keeps it up.

“There's too many things that trip his memories here. We have to get him out. This is going to kill him otherwise.” Tony vaguely recognizes that voice, for some reason he thinks of peppercorns. Maybe he should find it worrying that he's completely calm after waking up in a room with very little idea of how he got there, but something tells him these people are here to help.

“Careful.” The hand in his hair stills, moving down to trace over his cheek in a way Tony can only classify as longing. “I think he's awake.” Judging by the volume and the approximate location, the person speaking is probably his dearly beloved head massager.

“Tony, hey man, you with us again?” That's another new voice, warm, full of worry and the slightest hints of exasperation. Tony feels the inexplicable urge to show this man he's doing just fine, even if he's really _really not._

“Hi.” He croaks, cracking his eyes open to stare up into the worried brown eyes of a man in military dress. Tony likes him instantly, he hopes they're friends. He sort of hopes everyone in this room with him is his friend. _Was I lonely?_ He wonders distantly, slipping a hand up to rest over his heart.

“Hey Tones, how are you feeling?” _Tones?_ That sounds like a nickname, maybe they _are_ friends.

“Uh.” Tony blinks slowly, taking stock of himself and coming up with a whole slew of questions immediately.

“Not to be rude, but what the fuck is in my chest?” Tony grits out.  A round of swearing meets his question; the source of which turns out to be an unfairly gorgeous blond who also happens to be built like a tank. Actually everyone in the room is entirely too good looking. They also all look a little like someone kicked a puppy. Tony licks his lips nervously, eyes darting around the room. He feels like maybe he should be apologizing.

“Why are you all so hot and sad?” Tony asks before he can stop himself.  That startles a laugh out of the woman holding his hand though so maybe it's not the end of the world.

“Good morning, that's a pacemaker in your chest, and my name is Pepper.” She says, seemingly anticipating his next question. He wonders how many times they've gone through this song and dance. None of them seem surprised. Tony knows he should be terrified, his memories have more holes in them than Swiss cheese, an incredible super-battery is lodged in his chest cavity, and a guy with a shiny metal arm is apparently so common place that no one is staring at it. He's not afraid though, just confused and a little sore-as if he's been running a marathon. Or maybe having seizures. That seems more likely. He vaguely remembers laying on the floor and doing a whole lot of flopping. Fun times.

“Don't worry Tony, we'll get to the bottom of this if it's the last thing we do.” Says blond and punches bears for fun from where he's sitting by the headboard of the bed. His face looks awfully grim despite Tony's desire to break out into an obnoxious rendition of Yankee Doodle when looking at him.

“Oh hi.” Tony says, levering himself up into a sitting position despite the protests of everyone in the room.

“My name is-” Tony thinks about that for a long moment, everyone in the room seems to be holding their breath. “Tony. Tony something, anyway. Not important, _hello.”_ Tony murmurs, fluttering his lashes in a way he hopes is becoming in the direction of the guy who was most certainly the one stroking his hair earlier.

“He's fine.” Pepper mutters, shaking her head in fond exasperation. Tony beams at her; even without his memories, he just _knows_ she's one of the best people in his orbit.

“Still need to get him outta here though.” Bear puncher says, catching Tony's intense stare and clearing his throat. “I'm Steve, we work together.” After that, everyone else introduces themselves to him again. Not that he remembers them doing this before, but it's obvious this has happened more than once.

“Are we all friends?” He asks, later when he's had a nap and changed clothes. Natasha pauses where she's tossing clothes into suitcases.

“I hope we are.” Tony says with feeling, leaning his head on Rhodey's shoulder. They're curled up together on the wide loveseat at the foot of Tony's bed.

“Yeah, we're all friends.” Rhodey says, ruffling his hair affectionately and shooting Pepper a look. She's been in and out of the room on her phone in between tossing things in bags and ordering Steve and Bucky around the room with all the authority of a drill sergeant. Tony is impressed.

“Are we ready?” Rhodey asks, when the last of the suitcases in the room is neatly zipped and locked.

“Everything is set up as best as it can be. Thank goodness for the Tabula Rasa protocol.” Pepper answers, rolling her sleek little phone up into a tube smaller than a lipstick and tucking it into a hidden pocket in her blazer. Tony resist oohing at the nifty technology only just barely.

“Tony.” She says, drawing his attention away from dissecting what kind of material her phone could be made of. “You're going to wait out a solution at your cottage on Lake Superior in Minnesota. At least one Ave-one of us will be with you at all times.” She's already told him this before, he knows this, but the information is still welcome.

“I need you to promise me something.” Steve says, coming over to crouch in front of him before he can answer Pepper. Tony swallows when big hands wrap around his own.

“Yeah, what am I promising?”

Steve is silent for a moment, just rubbing his thumbs over the tiny scars on Tony's knuckles. How they came to be there is a mystery to him, but he's obviously the sort of guy that works with his hands.

“Tony.” Steve's tone shakes him, from following that thread any further.

“I need you to promise that you won't chase the rabbit, or the water in this case. Can you promise me that?” Steve's voice shakes slightly, but his gaze is steady. Everyone in the room is staring at the two of them expectantly. Tony smiles.

“Pacific Rim reference? I like it. Have we watched that together?” Tony wonders idly. “But okay, doing as you asked, no boogie boarding or rabbit chasing, can do Steve.”

That seems to satisfy all of them, but the atmosphere is still tense; charged when they all grab a suitcase and lead him out into the hallway. Tony bounces on the balls of his feet in agitation. His fingers twitch. It feels like he should be doing _something._ What, he doesn't know, but he trusts in the abilities of his friends.

“Need you to close your eyes until we get to the car. There's lots of stuff in here that might set you off.” Bucky is walking at his left, a baseball cap covering his shoulder length brown hair, and a single black glove hiding the hand of his metal arm like a murder strutting Michael Jackson.

“We could blindfold him, just in case.” Clint says, jogging over to pass Tony a bag full of apples. Tony drops them, hands clutching at nothing. The breath freezes in his lungs. Muscle memory, old panic. He doesn't know _why_ the thought of a blindfold is so terrifying, but it is, it definitely is. Wood slats at the bottom of a barrel, sloshing water, hands on the back of his neck. He's on his knees in the hallway, eyes clamped shut, drowning on dry land.

“Tony! Tony don't, c'mon snap outta it.” Steve's blue, blue eyes swim into focus, and the water draws back far enough that he can breathe again.

“No. No blindfolds.” He whispers, stock still, eyes wide and glassy. Steve holds his face between his hands, leaning their foreheads together. Rhodey is there too, murmuring an incorrect equation, then another. Tony wrinkles his nose, blinking out of his haze to glare over at his mathematical butcher of a friend.

“That's wrong, you know?” Tony deadpans, and Rhodey grins, then sags with a laugh with relief.

“I know, you hate it when I whisper inaccurate formulas, figured you still would.”

“Oh fuck, Tony, I'm sorry I didn't think, I didn't-it didn't, do you remember th-” Clint starts, only to be cut off by Rhodey's aggressive throat clearing.

“That was atrocious, let's definitely never do that again. Zero stars on my yelp review.” Tony mutters as he's helped to his feet by no fewer than four people, including one very hangdog looking Clint.

"No guilt, no sad bird."  Tony says, flapping a hand at Clint.  "M'good don't make that face, you didn't know.  hell  _I_ don't know."

“How are you feeling?” Bucky says, grabbing him and producing a penlight from god knows where to shine it right in Tony's eyes. Steve has a hold of his chin, and Rhodey is patting his back. Tony feels like his life might be one giant cosmic joke.

“Still with us, no more memory loss, who's the president?” Steve asks, and Tony groans.

“Do I have to say?”

“He's fine guys, just a hiccup I think.” Rhodey murmurs, slinging an arm around his shoulder. Tony takes a deep steadying breath when Pepper takes his hand.

“Eyes closed Tony, just for a little while.” Pepper sounds so certain that everything will be just fine, so he nods, letting his eyes flutter shut. They give him a moment to get his bearings, and then they're moving in a tight knit group down a long hallway. There's a whooshing of doors, obviously the entrance to an elevator. It must be a pretty big elevator if all of them fit, but they do.

“JARVIS is loaded up on all of your tech devices, if you need anything go through him, he knows what's should be safe for you to see. Avoid watching television, and heavily crowded spaces.” Natasha is rattling off from her checklist.

“No candy from strangers either” Steve says. Even with his eyes closed Tony knows the guy has to have a shit eating grin on his face.

“Aw but that's the best kind of candy.” Clint grumbles, earning what sounds like a playful elbow to the ribs.

“I'll be _fine,_ relax, chill, you're all acting like this is a matter of national security instead of-well whatever this is.” Silence meets his words. _Okay._ So maybe it _is_ a matter of national security then. He lives an interesting life apparently.

 Upon exiting the elevator, they bundle him into a car with the most darkly tinted windows he's ever seen. All of them take turns hugging him. It's really nice, Tony feels like even with all his memories intact this would be something he enjoyed-although judging by their expressions they're surprised he's allowing it despite how open he's been to cuddling this entire time.

“You don't usually let people hold you like that.” Steve says, once the car has pulled out onto the road. It appears to be self driving. Wild.

Tony blinks in confusion though, turning in his seat to look at Steve. There are four seats in the back of the car. It's more like a small rolling living room than an actual vehicle. Bucky is beside Steve, gloved hand over a very bulky pocket in his black cargo pants, eyes on the street going by outside. Tony wonders how he can see out the window with tinting that dark.

“Why not, feels good, warm.” Tony answers slowly, once he's dragged his gaze away from what little metal peeks out from beneath Bucky's sleeve. That arm is just so _cool._

“I don't know, you're usually pretty-” Bucky mumbles, almost to himself.

“Just say it.”

“Skittish. Like a stray cat that's not used to being pet” Bucky sounds almost sheepish about what he's said, but not enough not to say it apparently. Tony scowls over at his companions. Beside him, Rhodey seems to be trying not to laugh.

“Buck c'mon"

“You know it's true Stevie.” Bucky says, a slight smirk playing around the corners of his lips.

“Well. I like being touched.” Tony grumbles, a hint of obstinance creeping into his voice as he hunches down in his seat.

“Hey, it's not a bad thing, don't be like that Tones.” Rhodey has his back obviously, Tony loves him.

“I love you Rhodey.” He announces, pushing up the arm rests between their seats so he can lean on his clear favorite in the room-car. Rhodey laughs, letting him get comfortable. Tony might be imagining things, but Steve looks just a little jealous. Bucky just looks amused.

________________________________________________________________

 

The drive takes over a day, but no driver means they can sleep in the car. Or rather, Tony and Rhodey sleep, the other two don't seem to rest at all. When they take breaks at rest stops there's always someone at his side. Tony avoids looking at the magazine racks and televisions, sinking into his hoodie when people look at him just shy of too long.

Tony wonders if he's famous. All of this subterfuge seems to hint at that heavily, even if Steve says he loves subsistence farming. Bucky nearly laughed his ass off hearing that, so Tony figures it's a lie. The guy does look like he could lift a tractor though; having him around a farmhouse should be an experience.

The house in question turns out to be in a town so small it's just a main street with a few little stores here and there. Not even an omnipresent Wal-Mart lurks in the shadows. There's still mom and pop shops here. Tony is charmed. An honest to god white picket fence rings the property. The back of the land goes up to the lakeside. Over grown gardens sprawl all over; vines and weedy flowers spill out of flower beds. When Tony walks through the greenery, a fat fuzzy bumble bee zips past them. Tony watches it hop from flower to flower in a zig zagging path. The house itself is small but picturesque, painted in pale blue, white, and sea-foam green. It's quiet out here. Birds chirp away, somewhere a cat is meowing long and loudly.

“Oh, someone's been taking care of the house making sure it's habitable. They must have been feeding a cat.” Rhodey's voice breaks Tony out of his contemplation of the empty bee boxes situated near one of the fences.

“A cat?” Tony asks, already walking towards the source of the sound.

“Oh.” Tony says, crouching down by the white painted steps that lead up to the front door. An equally white long haired fluff ball of a cat with big orange eyes blinks up at him. The silence lasts a good five seconds before she's making a racket, meowing and standing up to rub herself all over Tony.

“Well hi, hi there, aren't you just a beautiful girl.” Tony murmurs, carefully reaching out so she can sniff his hand-an action that is deemed acceptable, if the cat butting her head against his hand is anything to go by. Tony pets between the pointed triangles of her ears and smiles.

“You keepin' her then, settling in and adopting kids so fast?” Bucky asks as Tony rises up to stand.

“You should name her Gal. She looks like a Gal.” Steve is looking down at the cat like he might like to pet her too. Tony chuckles under his breath.

“What do you say, how does Gal sound?” A loud chirping meow meets the question, Tony takes that as an affirmative.

Gal follows him into the house as if she belongs there. Tony wonders if the person who takes care of the house when he's not there has been letting her inside. He hopes so. It gets pretty cold here, and the thought of his new fluffy friend braving the elements is not a pleasant one. One of the kitchen cupboards proves to contain several cans of fancy wet cat food. Tony opens the can for Gal and sets it out, watching her eat enthusiastically before setting out to explore his surroundings.

Inside the house is well kept and cozy. Big windows in the kitchen let in long bands of golden sunlight. A window-seat takes up another wall. Built in bookshelves packed with books line the walls of the living room. The whole house is stocked for various different hobbies; one room holds an easel, art supplies, a violin, and what looks like a vintage piano. Another houses boxes upon boxes of craft supplies for everything from knitting to train sets. There are two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a detached garage that's almost bigger than the house itself. Tony stays in there for an hour, finally getting to reunite with the trio of bots he knows are his. They whir and click in a way that can only be described as excited; crowding around him to seemingly check him over for injuries. The biggest one, Dum-e rests his pincered claw atop Tony's head.

“Yeah, dad's here. Kind of shaken up, but here, hey kiddos.” Tony whispers, suddenly overcome with a fierce sort of joy that he might have forgotten a lot of things, but at least no one has forgotten _him._

Evening finds them all sitting outside on the porch, watching the stars pop into view in smatterings of white sparkling light. Tony starts calculating distances between them almost unthinkingly, startling when Steve plops down next to him on the porch swing.

“Hungry?” He asks, holding out a plate with mashed potatoes, peas, and a piece of chicken out. How very Americana. Tony nods, taking the plate easily. Steve watches him as he eats, and soon Rhodey and Bucky join them, the latter leaning against the porch railing to do some stargazing of his own.

“We'll stay here tonight, then take off in the morning. Don't worry, we have a ride.” Rhodey says, anticipating Tony's objection over his only means of transportation being potentially gone.

“Leaving so soon?” Tony asks, looking down at his plate to cut up his chicken, but also to hide the disappointment on his face.

“Tones I don't want to leave but I'm actually supposed to be in Washington right now, I'll be around again though, I promise.” Tony feels like a promise from Rhodey is probably the kind people can take to the grave.

“Thanks sour patch, you're the best.”

The rest of the night passes companionably, even if Tony is well aware of the holes in their conversations. Topics carefully skirted around like negative space on a black and white painting. He pretends not to hear the conversation between Steve, Bucky, and Rhodey when he goes off to slip beneath the covers of the bed in the room he's chosen. The loss of so many memories should make him a mass of anxiety and insomnia, but there will be time enough for that. For now he sleeps, comforted by the warm purring ball of fluff by his feet, and the cool flower scented air wafting in through the screens of his windows.

 


End file.
